Review: Big Girl Small, by Rachel DeWoskin

Think you have issues surrounding your body type?  Meet Judy, teenage girl, amazing vocalist, new student at the local exclusive high school for the arts, and three-foot-something Little Person, whose journey into mortification is chronicled by writer Rachel DeWorskin in the quick read, Big Girl Small.

Despite her parents' best efforts to give her as 'normal' a life as possible, it is obvious from the beginning that Judy's life has taken a very atypical turn, as the story is told by Judy from the confines of her seedy motel hideout, where she is cloistered not from a crime, but from some humiliation so great that she has run away from her life to hide from it.  The novel is told as a reflection on the recent events, with several short jaunts to her present situation.  In the past year, Judy has walked away from her friends and comfortable public school into a program for those exceptionally talented in the arts; this is her first time truly striking out on her own into new territory, and she is determined to re-create her life, making new friends, coming into her own musically, and, of course, falling for the most handsome boy in the school.  She confronts her fears head-on, proving that she belongs where she is, and eventually winning the attention of Handsome Boy, Kyle.

Needless to say, things begin to go downhill from this point for Judy, and the knowledge that there's been a Horrific Event, combined with the unexplained attentions of the cinematography-obsessed Kyle, quickly lead the reader to conclude what has happened well before Judy herself reveals the truth.  The reader then spends the rest of the novel waiting for the inevitable.  Granted, this is technically a YA novel, so younger adults may not have quite the sense of what's coming that a more seasoned reader would have, but it's pretty plain that this story is following a well-travelled path of female victimization that I find distasteful and tired.  How many books about girl-has-sex-and-is-humiliated-publicly do we need?  Judy's LP status serves only to add another layer of 'of course', insofar as characters with physical disabilities are typically targets of victimization in film and literature.  What would have been more interesting and original would have been presenting Judy's character instead as Jude, a male travelling the same path.  DeWoskin's telling comes off as the older, sexier sister of the Afterschool Special so many of us grew up watching.

Lest I sound completely down on the novel, I need to make a few critical points.  DeWoskin does a supurb job of raising the level of diction typically found in YA novels.  Judy is smart, and DeWoskin expects the readers to be smart as well; this is a blessed relief from the vast majority of YA offerings, and is what kept me glued to the book.  It is also refreshing to read Judy's perspective as a LP, which is decidedly not self-pitying; while her character's eventual humiliation does as first blush seem to be dependant on her status as 'Different', by the end of the novel, this is shown as less the case, thus in a roundabout way making Judy less 'Different', at least in the physical sense.  Judy's parents are very well-created, as well; they are loving without being the overprotective, shrill dunderheads typically seen in YA novels in particular.  The resolution of the plot is simultaneously realistic and somewhat unsatisfying, because reality, and real people, are often supremely unsatisfying.  In the end, Judy is still the mistress of her own future, and the reader has gained insight into how an intelligent young woman can make the same mistakes in judgement, succumbing to the same twin pitfalls of inexperience and insecurity, as any other young person.

This novel is rated YA, but the writing and topic are definitely skewed to older YA readers.  Several and various sexual acts, along with drug and alcohol use, are described in the same analytic and intelligent voice as the rest of the novel, meaning they are not pornographic, but are very concisely described.  These events do not take place until near the middle, but things go downhill quickly to the Main Event.  For that first half, I was solidly planning on handing this one over to my younger-YA daughter, but the explicit nature of the book, no matter how strong of a warning-tale this might be, had me changing my mind midstream.  Read this one first before passing it on to your own kids, and make the decision that is right for your family.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars.  An eloquent tale of warning, and strength of spirit, voiced by a realistically created character.

Review: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, by Ransom Riggs

The first novel by travel writer Ransom Riggs, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children lures readers in with an amazing collection of actual photos, which have been re-purposed to illustrate the novel.  Largely unchanged, their collectively spooky and sometimes disturbing nature sets the scene for what promises to be a haunting ride through Riggs' twisted imaginings.

The novel takes off running, with sixteen year-old Jacob detailing the fantastic stories his grandfather told him as a child, while they looked at photos he claimed were of people he knew during the time he spent at an orphanage during WWI;  Jacob bitterly decided as a boy that all he had believed of levitating children and terrifying monsters from the old man were actually tricks and deceptions.  Flash forward a few years to a frantic phone call, and a tragic discovery in the woods behind the grandfather's home leads to Jacob once again question reality; this time, events push him to realize that he must find the truth himself.  Within weeks, Jacob and his doddering father set off for a tiny island off the coast of the UK, the boy on a path to a place he could barely have dreamed.  It's no great revelation for readers that the home for peculiar children is real, due to the title of the story, but how and when he arrives there, and what dangers confront him, are truly fantastic.

Peregrine starts out strongly, and readers can make an almost instant connection to the emotionally raw Jacob.  The photos are utterly fascinating, and Riggs cleverly incorporates them into the tale immediately, virtually ensuring that the reader will be hooked into the mystery of who and what those portrayed really are.   Riggs has a gift for detail, and Jacob's eventual discovery of the remains of the home brings the smells and aura of the ruins to life.  Key relationships are another strong point of the novel, both between characters and reader-to-character; I genuinely was interested in each of the children, and more than that, was heartbroken for several characters.

However, once the entire truth begins to unfold, Riggs falters a bit in his storytelling.  It is almost as if, without the support of these wonderous photographic guides, he was unsure of where to go or how to keep the reader in the same trance.  Granted, it would be difficult to maintain the same level of grotesque fascination throughout, but the action doesn't quite stand up as well on its own, perhaps because the bar is set so high.  The climax of the story could have been taken from several children's action books, and is a little too easily resolved.  Additionally, readers expecting this to be horror fiction, as I initially was, should be aware that this is a fantasy.  Although the photos are somewhat disturbing (particularly the one of the twins on the back cover, which for some reason completely freaks me out), and may evoke thoughts of Pet Cemetary or any number of demonic toy films, they are not indicative of frightening characters, but rather of mere peculiarities posessed by largely good-natured children.

This is not to say that the bulk of the novel is without surprise or enticement, because that is not the case.  The peculiar children's predicament, and how each one chooses to deal with it (including Jacob's grandfather) is expertly and sensitively told, allowing for variation and uniqueness among the characters.  The eventual revelation of Jacob's grandfather's story, as well as Jacob's own legacy, is stirring and demands the reader to evaluate what, really, would he or she have done in the same situation?  What is bravery, and how do you deal with the monsters when they come for you?  While many of the basic parts of this story have been told before (secret path leads to time / dimension travel, fantastical creatures seeking dominion that must be faced by children, etc), it is the assembly and fleshing out of these conventions that is important, and Riggs does an excellent job of inking them into a new life. 

The ending of the novel makes it clear that this is intended to become a series, and I have already tried to find out the anticipated publication date for the next installment, but haven't had any luck as yet.  When it does come out, I will definitely be waiting to see whether Riggs can continue to keep the characters as strong as they have been, and whether he will continute to incorporate the photos he relied on so heavily to create the characters, or if he will branch out and rely solely on his own imagination in the next go-round.  This novel is appropriate for readers approximately age ten and up; if they're not scared by Harry Potter, and are no longer nervous about creatures under the bed, they will most likely love this story. 

Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars.  Excellent fantasy debut novel that transcends its YA label.

Review: Dreams of Joy, by Lisa See

Dreams of Joy is the long-awaited sequel to Lisa See's gorgeous Shanghai Girls, the story of two sisters' harrowing escape from 1930s China and subsequent struggle for normalcy as American immigrants.  If you have not read SG, you need to stop here and do so NOW.  It's a tremendous work, beautiful and memorable, and well worth the few days you will spend clinging to its pages before you pick back up here.

DoJ picks up where SG leaves off,  with the 17 year-old Joy overhearing a terrible argument between the two sisters that reveals the true status of her parentage.  It is now the 1950s, and the height of the cultural revolution in China, a time when some American Chinese, feeling persecuted by the American anti-communist movement, were returning to China; the traumatized Joy makes the misguided decision to flee to her family's homeland to find her father and participate in the 'rebirth' of China.  Once the Paris of Asia, Shanghai is no longer the cultural heaven it once was, and Chairman Mao's Cultural Revolution propaganda are posters atop a pit of despair.  Joy's discovery of her father leads her down a dark and horrible path to near-destruction, while May undertakes a harrowing, emotionally-fraught journey of her own to find her daughter and make peace with her painful past.

If you know nothing about the Cultural Revolution, I highly suggest you read up on it; it is a fascinating and terrifying historical example of humanity and government at its worst.  However, readers need not study up in advance of picking up See's novels, which in fact do an excellent job of portraying China's nightmarish period.  The events described in this novel follow closely what I have read in various non-fiction publications (I had a double-major in history in college, with a focus on China), and See allows the reader to discover and experience the perfumed stench via colorful descriptions and fully-realized characters who portray the growing terror of the underclasses at that time.  Joy's gradual awakening is delayed by the power of Mao's propaganda; the constant repetition and overwhelming enforcement of his increasingly insane decrees burrow a kernel into her mind, and the reader travels with her as she slowly realizes the horror she has inflicted upon herself and her family in her misguided guilt and grief.  For her part, May, once a Shanghai Beautiful Girl, is reduced to being a paper collector, literally clearing the city of shreds of her own past to make way for the 'New China', as she searches for her daughter and a way for them all to escape the mire.

Almost everything about this novel is wonderful.  Particularly engrossing and horrifying are the public 'confessions' that are forced from those who have been perceived to have wronged society in some way; See's descriptions of the way the masses figuratively clamber onto the backs of those poor sinners in order to find the momentum and political capital to survive are eviscerating.  Among the few quibbles I have with this novel is the ease with which May was able to communicate with the outside world, which was at the time nearly impossible.  That she was never betrayed by anyone along the lengthy line of stops her letters had to make in order to get out of the country is difficult to believe, as is the ease both women had in finding Z.G., Joy's birth father.  Really, though, these are small issues compared with the sweeping achievement that this novel represents. 

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars.  A worthy sequel to a fantastic book; historical fiction at its finest.

Review: The Year We Left Home, by Jean Thompson

Jean Thompson's The Year We Left Home is the multi-voiced tale of an Iowa family, told over three decades by a rotating cast of six characters.  Both parents and their young-adult children are given turns at the narration, which evolves as characters move forward to being grandparents and parents themselves, respectively.

This novel takes quite awhile to get into.  The initial characters that the reader is introduced to aren't really likable, and the tone is grey and bleak.  In fact, very often the character offering his or her perspective behaves in a manner that isn't terribly appealing, and the reader is left to find the overriding interest in the story not by focusing on one person in particular, but rather in how these flawed, damanged humans manage to relate to one another.  Once all the characters are introduced, and the family web is completed, it's a little easier to become attached to one person or another; as the characters age and become less selfish, they likewise become more appealing.  Still, however, because the family members don't deal with each other very often, it's frequently easy to forget that this is a family drama at its core.

SPOILER ALERT - SKIP TO BELOW IF YOU PLAN ON READING THIS BOOK

One serious flaw with this novel is the loss of the voice of the voice of Torrie, the bright young daughter with the eating disorder, after a terrible car accident on her way home from a funeral.  Because this novel is offbeat, and Thompson takes risks in her portrayal of characters by allowing them the freedom to be more than slightly crazy (for example, the returning Vietnam Vet with the serious inter-personal, and mental, disabilities), it would have been germaine to allow Torrie to maintain a role in the telling of the story on her own, rather than through the occasional observations of others.  People with traumatic brain injuries are not devoid of experience, and even if her voice was garbled, or childlike, this would be preferable to essentially removing her voice altogether, especially as she took dramatic steps towards independence at the end of the novel.  Prior to the accident, she was my favorite character, and her shift to inactive voice creates a large hole as far as I am concerned.  I would have been extremely interested to read her perspective on the world around her.

SPOILER OVER

Where Thompson is strong as a writer is in her constant movement forward.  She doesn't waste time coddling the reader, making sure you have kept up with the leaps forward in time.  The story is not continuous, and if the reader isn't paying attention, the book will continue on regardless, leaving her confused and needing to flip back in order to place people and events.  Like all families, some members fit better than others, and all have strong and weak points.  Thompson is unapologetic for her character's failings, until the end, where she seems to succumb to a need to tie things up neatly with a bow.  This is unfortunate, because the rest of the novel is so untidy, and a sunny ending is a bit jarring.

Overall, The Year We Left Home isn't a waste of a read, by any means, and is more male-friendly than most in the family-story genre.  The characters face real-life choices that we see friends and neighbors making daily (re-entry after war, adultry, drugs, tragedy, parenting), with varying results, and Thompson doesn't waste time with overdone, non-action-related descriptions.  This is a no-nonsense book, and the trade-off for this is that the reader doesn't spend as much time building a relationship with each character.  That, combined with the challenge that some of the characters aren't overly likable to begin with, makes it less likely that the reader will experience that can't-put-it-down feeling.

Rating: 2.5 out of 5 stars.  No-nonsense, multi-voiced slow-starter describing real issues faced by a wide-spread family over a generation.

Review: The Widower's Tale, by Julia Glass

 

When I checked out The Widower's Tale, I was expecting a slightly melancholy novel about an elderly man who had recently lost his wife of many years, and who was left with nothing more to fill up his time than meddling in the affairs of his adult children.  This seemed like a familiar topic to me, as it has been thoroughly covered on the widow side, and I was interested in how the reverse might be different.  This was not, however, the story I actually got.   What I did get was a look into the life of a very vibrant, not-elderly-at-all man who is more than content to allow his children, and grandchildren, to live their own interesting lives.

Percy (aka the non-elderly man), 70, has been a widower for some thirty years, and still lives on the same beautiful property where a tragic accident resulted in the death of his wife.  His two daughters, Clover, an absentee parent who can't seem to keep a job and Trudy, who is the overachieving mother to the equally overachieving Robert, have remained close to their father, if not each other.  The story begins with the relocation of a displaced preschool into the newly remodeled barn on Percy's land, one that used to house his wife's ballet studio, and which is now a hub for the who's-who of the well-off community.  The school becomes almost a puzzle frame for the story, encircling each character who appears in an embrace that is at first warm, but becomes increasingly stifling as time passes.  Additional central characters, such as Arturo, Robert's roommate, Sarah, a preschool parent who is much more to Percy, Ira, an in-the-closet prek teacher, and gardener Celestino, who is equally in the closet, albeint in a different way, complete the cast of this family drama, forging relationships that complete the web of the tale.

A large part of what keeps this story intensely interesting is the quality of writing demonstrated in the creation of many of these characters.  The book focuses largely on the males' point of view, which is refreshing and surprisingly touching.  It would have been easy for Glass to have written The Old Man, The Gay, The Illegal, and The Disenfranchised Scholar, but Glass does not rely on stereotypes to create these characters, and as a result they are varied and textured in a way that I have rarely seen in novels written by women.  I particularly appreciated Percy, as the older parent who is involved in his children's lives, but not overbearingly so, and who has an intelligent, caring, adult relationship with the much younger Sarah without becoming The Dirty Old Man.  Clover, also, evolves as a character, moving from an annoying, flightly, absentee mother to a much more likable, introspective, involved woman.  Each character grows and evolves throughout the tale, changing in ways both attractive and not, much as the very real people in our own lives.

Glass introduces several sub-plots that focus on one or two characters, but the repercussions of which have bearing on everyone involved.  The drama of the local eco-terrorists, Clover's quest for her children, Sarah's medical challenges, and the preschool as a community entity swirl around Percy, who as the anchor character plays a small part in each vein.  While the climax of the story takes place largely without his participation, it is his reaction, and decisions for the future, that cement the final quality of Glass's work.  The ending is lovely, well-wrapped without being stifling, and leaves the reader with a solid foothold for imaginings as to what the future might bring for this cast of characters. 

While no novel is perfect, and I found certain characters more interesting and engaging than others, part of the beauty of the story is that there are enough angles for readers to latch onto that almost anyone could pick up Widower's Tale and find a niche.  I thoroughly enjoyed this alternative, man's view telling of family and community drama.

Rating: four stars.  Interesting perspectives, via a well-developed, evolving cast of characters, on family and community dynamics.

Review: Faith, by Jennifer Haigh

Jennifer Haigh's new novel, Faith, focuses on a Boston family during the height of the infamous Catholic church scandal surrounding pedophiles' taking advantage of young acolytes and parishoners.  When Father Art McCann, brother to the narrator of the story, is accused of doing just that by a mother of a boy who had grown close to the priest, the family and community are torn apart, and narrator Sheila is determined to find the truth.  Art is definitely hiding something, and her search for answers is the backbone of the novel.

I grew up near Boston, and have a real affinity for the hard-core accent and customs of the community, which are often as in this case, represented by Irish Catholic characters.  While I haven't lived in the area for decades now, something about a Boston accent makes me feel immediately at home.  Unfortunately, I simply couldn't bond with these characters.  The book opens with Art's mother, still a teenager herself, being abandoned by her young husband; this chapter was well-written, and I was invested in the woman.  However, this is the last we really see of that part of the story, as the novel immediately jumps forward to a brief discussion of Art's joining the priest preparatory school at age 14, leaving his mother, step-father and new siblings behind.  From this point, the story begins to be told more by Sheila, but the problem with this is that she is telling Art's story, making it difficult to bond with him as he is still the 'other', but we are not really involved with Sheila as a character, either.  At the time of the events she describes, she is a young girl, and we have no relationship with her, and even her adult character is not developed to a point where we are really part of her life, either.  This situation left the book feeling more like a documentary than a novel to me.  Also, since the reader knows from the beginning that the focus of the story is accused of a heinous act, it is difficult to know how to react to him - do I root for him, or not?  While you're pretty sure he probably didn't do it, there is the kernel of doubt that the family, and thus the reader, is left to deal with, and this again makes connecting with the characters difficult.  I don't want to root for someone who ultimately is revealed to be a pedophile. 

The pacing of the story is another issue I wasn't happy with during the first half of the book.  The story dragged on for at least the first hundred pages, leaving me thinking, I get it, there's an issue, let's move on.  The final quarter of the story definitely picks up, and when the entire truth becomes clear, it is of course tragic, and I can say this without feeling that I'm giving anything away, because regardless of the truth, whether he actually did anything wrong or not, lives have been ruined.  I think the 'big reveal' of information did draw me into the story more, but by then the book was almost over.  Perhaps re-reading the story, knowing how it ended, I would feel more invested in the work and less like an observer, but then again, I'm so disgusted with some of the characters' seediness, maybe not. 

Haigh definitely has a knack for description, and she does not shy away from having her characters make unpopular life choices.  By taking on this novel, she investigates morality, faith, poverty, and the issue of priesthood as a lifestyle and religious choice.  These are sticky issues that stir firmly held opinions in the minds of many, particularly when mixed together.  Haigh does an admirable job of creating realistic drama and reactions to these situations.

Overall, I probably wouldn't recommend this book, but it depends on what you're looking for.  If you don't mind not being terribly engaged with the characters, then this might be a good book for you, particularly if you are familiar with the Boston Archdiocese nightmare.  How committed are you to your family members?  Would you stick with them even if you thought they had committed a heinous act?  How would you cope with family members who walked away, or stayed?  These are interesting questions; Haigh simply didn't make me care about the choices this particular family made.

Rating: one and a half stars.  Gripping topics conveyed via cold characters.

Review: Robopocalypse, by Daniel H. Wilson

While I don't typically pick up science fiction (I think you could probably count the numbers of sci-fi reviews I've done on one hand), for some reason this book kept popping up in my way.  It seemed to be everywhere!  Finally I gave in and ordered it from Overdrive, and I'm glad I did.

If you've seen or read 'I, Robot', you have the general concept of the story; smartypants scientist messes with artificial intelligence (A.I.) in ways he shouldn't have been, and his biggest success leads to his almost immediate demise.  From that point on, the mainframe mastermind links up with the technology of the world - by this point, everything is 'smart', including cars - and instigates the annhilation and enslavement of humanity.  It's a pretty straightforward plot that would frankly have been a tired rehash of other quality novels had it not been for Wilson's combination of time-lapse storytelling with a variety of personal narratives.  Like many other current, popular novels, Robopocalypse employs a cast of storytelling characters to keep the reader from becoming complacent, but the format is twisted by using those voices not in conjunction, but in succession.  The premise is that the main character / narrator, after having already succeeded in leading the group who ultimately defeats Archos, the AI mainframe, comes upon a box containing video clips collected by various surveillance objects of human actions during the war.  It is the archived story of the human resistance, told in linear miniclips of the novel's characters. 

What makes this work is that all of the characters are sincerely, completely absorbing.  They are all very different, and include an elderly Japanese AI genius who is touchingly in love with his companion robot, an American Congresswoman's young daughter whose toys go frighteningly haywire, a self-absorbed London hacker, a small-town sherrif, an American military officer stationed in Afghanistan, an unlikely NYC couple who lead a resistance, and a man who against all reason winds up being the leader of the American resistance.  Each member of the international cast is integral, and though the individual appearances of each one amounts to only a few short chapters apiece, Wilson somehow makes these people into living, morphing, dynamic characters that I was enthralled with.  Many of the characters never even meet, and yet their presence is carried over into each other's stories in tendrils that connect the entire piece into one cohesive account.  The focus is always on the characters; this is not a book that delves deeply into technobabble, or references concepts that only hard-core sci-fi readers would understand, but rather it is a very reality-based story that any of us could imagine experiencing.  While self-professed geeks will probably enjoy Robopocalypse (such as my husband, who also couldn't put it down, and who spends a great deal of his time reading hard-core scif fi that frankly makes me want to take a nap), this is a very accessible story to the general reader who enjoys seeing how pieces, and people, fit together in this shrinking world. 

This is not to say that the book didn't have flaws, such as the resolution, which seemed to be pretty simple.  I feel that I can discuss this, because the book is clear from the start that humanity has already won, and that the tale is more about how we got there rather than where we ended up.  I mean, really?  It was irrationally easy, which if anything you would expect a computer overlord to uber-rational.  Quality endings are hard to come up with, and here I think Wilson falls a bit short.  The robots who are 'awakened', i.e. freed, by Takeo's work should have been further developed; I understand that some were crucial in the war's resolution, but really, a lot more could have been done with them, particularly Mikiko, his beloved companion.  I believe that the Congresswoman's daughter was vastly underutilized as a character and could have been developed further.  I have also seen many comparisons to a book called World War Z, by Max Brooks, which I have not read; those who have claim that the two are very similar, and if you like one, you will like the other, and vice versa.  I cannot speak to this, but plan to check out WWZ, both because I really liked Wilson's take and because I heard WWZ is about zombies.  I think I've made it pretty clear how I feel about zombies, people.

I read this one almost straight through.  It was a nice change of pace for me, but more than that, the characters are gorgeous.  I loved how they all were so disparate, but yet fit together in key ways from thousands of miles away.  Even if you're not a science fiction person, I would try it out for size.  The first chapter is a bit dull, but once the other characters begin to come into play, it's defintiely a worthwhile, fun read.

Discussion questions for Robopocalypse:
1. What did you think of the ending?  How could it have been made more compelling?
2. Why do you think the humans were so taken aback by the uprising of the machines?  Do you think that real society would be as vulnerable to being duped?
3. Which characters do you feel were most like what you think your own personal reaction might be to the uprising?  Would you survive?
4. If you have read WWZ, compare and contrast the stories.  Which one relates the apocalypse tale better?  How do you feel about authors releasing similar tales, even if they were 'inspired by' other previous works?

Rating: four stars.  Very engrossing, character-driven reboot of the apocalypse theme.

Review: The Arrivals, by Meg Mitchell Moore

I have to admit, what made me pick up this novel first was the cover photo.  I mean, really, look at it!  It's lovely.  When I realized that the story takes place in Burlington, VT, where I went to college many moons ago, I plopped it into my bookbag and off I went.  Those of you who live in NYC, or LA, have the luxury of reading about the cities you recognize all the time; for me, being able to place myself in the scenery with the characters was an unexpected, and welcome, pleasure.

Aside from my own personal geographic longings, 'The Arrivals' offers a great deal to woo readers.  Moore's novel follows several members of a large family, each of whom has chosen a very different life from the others, as they return for one reason or another to their parents' home in Burlington over the course of several weeks, descending en masse on aging parents who are alternately thrilled with their adult children's return and despondent that they will never leave.  One nice facet of the story is the generational spread that the characters represent; the youngest 'child' who returns home after a difficult breakup in NYC is in her early twenties, while her older sister, who also has fled relationship issues with her two children in tow, and older brother, who ends up planted for the duration of the summer with a wife suddenly put on bedrest during what was supposed to be a short visit, are respectively in their early- to mid-thirties.  This range in age, combined with the parents' perspectives, casts a wide net for readers, providing a niche for everyone. 

Moore presents the novel in perspective-driven chapters, rotating tales and characters with each change.  Because we are shown so many different lives, at first it is slightly difficult to keep people straight, but that quickly clears up, and from that point on there is little time for even the most ADD reader to get bored.  While there was one particular plot line that I didn't care for, surrounding one of the character's semi-subconscious decision to become entangled with a priest - the character herself had other aspects that I found interesting and endearing.  This is another perk to Moore's storytelling; the characters are multi-faceted, making even their least desirable traits less irksome because there are other areas to focus on.  Also interesting are backhanded references to real-world events, such as the Wall St. crisis and various military situations.  These events aren't belabored in a way that would reduce the applicability of the novel in future years, and are more mentioned in relation to certain characters rather than specifically discussed in their own right.

I would actually be interested in reading a sequel to The Arrivals, to see how things eventually turn out for the characters in the decisions they make at the end of the novel.  I have purposefully not given much of a summary here, because it's too delicious to unravel on your own.  I had a good time with this one, and I think many of you would, too.  It's a casual, positive adult family relationship book, in a time where as a culture we seem to celebrate the darker, seedier side of family interaction.

Some discussion questions for The Arrivals could be:

1. Which of the novel's many characters did you relate to the most / least?  Why?
2. Jane and Stephen share their decision for Stephen to be the full-time caregiver early in the story, and are adamant that it's what they want.  How do Jane's actions reflect a potential rethinking of this strategy after the baby is born?  On what circumstances could her reaction to the ringing phone be based, and what do you think this may indicate about the author's perspective on parenting?
3. Jane, Lillian and Rachel have vastly different experiences with and expectations of motherhood.  What are their commonalities, and how do their situations influence their relationships?
4. Ginny and William both start and end the book alone in their home.  How do the experiences of the summer influence their perspectives on their children, their partnership and their own identities?

Rating: four stars.  Deeply interesting character-driven novel that embraces the family as a source of strength and growth.

Review: Fragile, by Lisa Unger

Lisa Unger has once again written an engrossing, twisty-turning novel that grabs your brain and forces you to sit up and pay attention.  Although the cover may look like it belongs on a Jodi Piccoult novel, it actually masks  much more intriguing and multi-plot story that unwinds deliciously over the course of its 327 pages.

Fragile contains many characters, and several smaller plots, but the main focus of the book involves the disappearance of a troubled high school girl from her insulated town outside New York City. Did she really run away, as her Facebook page claims, or was she kidnapped?  Local child psychiatrist Maggie and her husband, Detective Jones, become submerged in the events while simultaneously coping with their own ghosts that still haunt this town they both grew up in.  While small town living may mean that everyone knows everyone else, reality is not always what it seems to be, and as the truth of the crime begins to come to light, so do the facts surrounding another event from the past that threatens to overcome them all.  What you think is the main plot is actually a venue to uncover something else entirely.

Fragile has many positive aspects, not the least of which is the multi-layered character writing done by Unger.  The story is told by multiple characters, who play various roles throughout.  Typically I have a favorite character, or at the very least stifle a groan when a chapter is told from the perspective of a particular character in a multi-cast novel, but this time I didn't; each one was lifelike and important beyond his or her part in the mystery at hand.  Even the characters in the story that you knew, just KNEW, had a part in the girl's disappearance, were dimensional and had a draw. 

This brings up an important point; due to the multi-voice storytelling, the reader knows more about what is really going on than any one of the characters for most of the novel.  However, this is not to say that I knew exactly what had occured in either the disappearance at hand *or* the mystery from the past, and this was delightful.  I knew just enough to *think* I knew what happened, which kept me from feeling like I should probably just skim the rest (ahem, again with the Piccoult reference), but there were indeed surprises ahead, unvelied throughout the last third of the novel, that changed my perceptions and made me respect Unger more as a writer.  I read a lot, as you have probably noticed, and it's not typical that I don't have just about everything figured out by the middle of the book.  I love that I didn't here.  More importantly, perhaps, is the fact that even though I thought I had figured everything out, I didn't care.  I was enjoying the book, and the unfolding events, too much to stop reading.  I read every word on every page.

If you read this book, alone or with others, consider the following book club questions:
1. How did your perception of Tommy Delano change throughout the novel?  Were you surprised at his letter?
2. What do you think would have happened if Sarah hadn't gotten into the car that day?  What would have the more immediate repercussions been for Sarah, and for Maggie?  What long-term implications might have there been for all the characters?
3. Social media plays a significant role in the mystery surrounding Charlene's disappearance.  Considering the pervasiveness of internet culture, what safeguards do you think are appropriate for a teenage online consumer? 
4. Maggie and Jones experience significant conflict over their son, Rick.  Whose side did you find yourself taking?  Why?

Rating: four out of five stars.  Engaging, character-driven novel that takes the reader on a trail-of-crumbs through the history and mystery of a small town.

Review: The Red Garden, by Alice Hoffman

I will start off by saying that this novel was not what I expected it to be.  The book jacket does it no justice whatsoever; the picture makes it look like a story about an asian experience (like something Lisa See would write), and the description makes it sound like a typical generational novel that follows a family in a linear fashion over time.  It is neither of those things.

The Red Garden is both a generational epic and a collection of short stories; each story takes place in the same small town of Blackwell, MA, and focuses on a different descendant of one of the few founding families of the town, spanning several hundred years to end at present day.  However, again, because the book jacket doesn't explain terribly well (read: at all) that this is what is going to happen, and the stories don't lay out specifically at the outset how the characters portrayed are related to the founding family, I was fairly confused during the second story and had to go back later to re-read it once I realized what was going on. 

Once I was acclimated to the Hoffman's format, I was hooked.  The intitial tale, about a small band of colonial settlers swindled by a local man into leaving their safe town to 'go west', ending up barely on the other side of the Berkshires before winter snows and starvation fell upon them, was immediately gripping.  The staunch wife of said swindler, Hallie Brady, overcomes the weakness of her fellow travellers and saves them all by becoming the provider for the group, hunting and gathering on her own until the spring.  Her strange connection with a local bear family not only saves the town, but also becomes a thread throughout the remainder of the collection.  The novel's dark humor, expressed by Hallie's naming every part of the town 'Dead Husband (Field, River, Wood)', has its start in this section as well, as does the explanation for the novel's title, although you don't realize it until later on.

This ability to keep the reader thinking throughout the book by leaving clues in the story of one generation that are never fully explained, but which require small leaps that result in several 'Ohhhh!' moments during the tales of future characters, is one of the Hoffman's talents that made me keep returning.  After realizing that the indominable Hallie would be making no further appearances, I almost put the book after the second story, not wishing to become attached to characters who I would never learn the fate of, but perseverance led me to realize that I would indeed learn the fate of the each of the previous characters via smal kernels of information provided in subsequent tales, as well as the repercussions of past events on the future generations.  This is like voyeurism at its best, really, knowing reasons and details about parts of others' lives that they themselves may not even fully understand.  The stories definitely have a slightly magical feel to them, as if spirits from the past are following along for the ride, and events such as why the soil in the garden is red, and the details about little girl on the riverbank, are like a candy trail through the forest.

This would be a great selection for a book club, because of the various motifs and relationships involved throughout the book.  Discussion questions could include:
1. What is the significance of bears in the story?  What is their ultimate meaning to the families of Blackwell?
2. The story of Susan  and the eels includes the most magical thinking in the collection, depending upon what you decide is the truth.  What do you think really happened with Susan?  What is the importance of the eels to Blackwell, and why is this story, which is so different from the others, included in the collection?
3. In these stories, things are not always what they seem.  Who do you think was really in the river with Carla's brother Johnny: Tessa or her mother?  Why?  What do you think of Carla's reaction?
4. Hoffman includes a few famous names in the tale.  Who are they, and what do you think of the parts they play?  Do you think they added to the story?
5.  Which ancestor is your favorite, and why did his / her story speak to you above the others? 

Overall, I would highly recommend this novel for its elegant blending of reality and magic, and Hoffman's talent at portraying characters from various periods in a manner that is faithful to the social norms of their time.  I found almost all the characters to be intriguing, and the writing overall inviting.  I am actually planning on going back through the story to plot out who was related to who, and that would be one of the only recommendations I would have to the author; somewhere in an afterward, to include a family / story tree with names and chapter titles in parentheses that readers can refer to in times of confusion.

Rating: four out of five stars.  Elegant storytelling that hides surprises and treats for readers throughout the novel's generations.

Note on Comments

Hi Everyone - I just realized that I haven't been getting emails from comments that have been left on this blog!  There aren't a lot of coments left here, and I usually see recent ones, but if you've left a comment and I haven't responded, I apologize!!!!  I was signed up to get them, but for some reason they weren't coming through.  I believe the problem has been resolved now.

Astarte

Review: The Penderwicks at Point Mouette, by Jeanne Birdsall

As you can probably tell, The Penderwicks at Point Mouette is a children's book, aimed largely at girls. It's the third book in a series, with the first two being The Penderwicks on Gardam Street and The Penderwicks: A Summer Tale of Four Sisters, Two Rabbits, and a Very Interesting Boy. I adore these books, and actually requested this latest installment for myself from the library; as my 12yo daughter loves them too, we read it on our Nooks at the same time (note: once you download a book from Overdrive, or whatever your local library uses for e-materials, you can upload it to multiple readers at the same time, so we didn't have to take turns, which I liked).

If you haven't read the previous two novels, you have missed out on a delightful series. The stories focus almost entirely on the children, four sisters named (from oldest to youngest) Rosalind, Skye, Jane and Batty (short for Elizabeth). Unlike in most fiction aimed at just about anyone these days, there is essentially no family conflict; these sisters adore each other, and operate as a functional team. As the OAP (Oldest Available Penderwick), Rosalind is largely in charge of the other sisters, due to the death of their mother some years earlier. Jane is a writer, Skye is engrossed in sports, and Batty, the baby, spends most of her time romping with the dog and cat. The children have adventures such as finding out who the little boy next door is, and end up inadvertently setting their father up to marry his mother, or going to a small vacation cottage and meeting a boy their age who is essentially held captive by a controlling mother and her new husband in the main house. This time, the three younger girls are the focus of the story, probably because Rosalind is getting older and the author is aiming at younger children; however, because the girls are so close, much of the plot focuses on Jane's anxiety over being OAP when the younger girls go on vacation with their aunt (Rosalind goes away with a friend instead), and on the entire group's experience of their first separation. The other story lines involve a first (very innocent) crush, and a new friendship developed with an oddly-familiar-looking man next door to their summer vacation home.

To understand why this all works, you have to realize that the voice Birdsall writes in is almost entirely unique in this day and age. To find its equivalent, you have to look back to books we might have read as children, such as the Bobbsey Twins series. The entire demeanor of the book is one of Literature, not just a typical book that appeals to kids via fart jokes and one-word responses. Additionally, Birdsall invests no faux angst, and instead trusts the readers to be intelligent enough to be interested in the characters and their story instead; she allows the characters and story to carry their own weight. It is entirely refreshing. The main focus is on the sisters' relationships, solving small mysteries and dealing with situations in a mature, thoughtful way that frankly, we don't see very often anymore. The reader experiences situations through each girl's eyes, as the girls rotate chapters and have their own small adventures that complement the main plot. There is always a positive, satisfying ending that, yes, is tied up with a bow, but one that feels natural, not like the author took a cheap way out and suddenly used a drawstring bag to stuff the remainder of the story into.

All in all, I cannot recommend this entire series highly enough. The characters are lovely, the stories are fun, and the resolutions are always satisfying and reasonable. If you have a daughter old enough to at least listen to chapter books while you read at night, you should be trotting out to get them, or at least reserve them at the library, pronto.

Rating: five stars. Another wonderful addition to the high-quality, family-friendly series.

Review: The Girl Who Chased the Moon, by Sarah Addison Allen

In a continuation of my summer lightweight novels series, I borrowed The Girl Who Chased the Moon, by Sarah Addison Allen, from my public library e-books site. Easy to read, and mildly mystical, it took me about a day and a half to get through the roughly three hundred pages on my Nook.

The basic plot follows Emily, a high school senior who moves to live with her maternal grandfather, whom she has never met, after her mother's death. Emily's mother had left the small town under a cloud of hatred twenty years earlier, but while no one has forgotten what the woman did, neither will anyone tell Emily what it was. While Emily deals with the fallout of a past she doesn't understand, she also finds herself oddly pulled to a boy from a strangely secretive, anachronistic family that seems to be somehow at the center of the mystery.

On the flip side of Emily's story is that of Julia, the woman who has returned to town to work in the small restaurant her father left her. Julia has a painful past of her own in the town, and the fate of this mother who lost a daughter becomes intertwined with that of Emily, girl who lost her mother. Her plot line is almost as well-developed as Emily's; focusing on re-imagining her future and moving on from the past, Julia must come to terms with betrayal by those she loved most, and a loss so profound it influences her every move.

This all sounds pretty straightforward, but when you add in little tidbits like mysterious lights in the forest, morphing wallpaper, and a magical scent of sugar, things get a little strange, in a playful way. This is not a novel that purports to be Mystical Literature, nor does it take itself too seriously. If you've seen the Movie Simply Irresistable (and if you haven't, you should), it has the same feel: light, airy, and welcoming. There is no feeling of 'Twilight' angst, either, thankfully. Really, it was just the right amount of magic to play into what you wished had been real when you were young - enough to excite the imagination without being frightened.

The mysteries in the story unravel at a good speed, and don't leave the reader bored or confused. In the negative column, however, is the answer to the Big Mystery - what is the boy and his family hiding? It's a lot more mellow than you would think, and the climax reveal is a little bit of a letdown, however by the time you find out what It is, the draw of the story is the interpersonal relationships of the various characters, who are all very real. In addition, the final chapter, which is more of an afterward, is too convenient for my taste, and it did color my impression of the story. I don't think that stories always need to be wrapped up in a bow, especially those made for adults, but since the whole story borders on YA lit it's a little less of an affront. In fact, if it wasn't for the one pretty explicit sexual encounter in the story, I would probably recommend it to my 12yo, because the themes of redemption, family, and personal integrity are strongly supported and well-written; throughout the novel Emily must simultaneously face the sins of her mother while still loving the woman she knew, and stand up as her own person in the midst of small-town prejudice and dislike, while Julia must face the monster within. Forgiveness, of self and others, is a strong thread woven into the plot, as is the need to move on and grow from adversity.

Overall, this is a lovely story that kept me interested until the end, and made me inclined to look for additional novels by Allen. If you're looking for something easy to keep up with for summer trips, it would make an excellent choice.

Rating: four out of five stars: Sweetly magical dual story of forgiveness, redemption, and love.

Review: The Happiness Project, by Gretchen Rubin.

Are you happy? How could an ordinary, no-major-life-problems person increase happiness and become more present in their daily lives? I have to admit, these questions seemed to be self-centered and weary when I first noticed this book on the shelves. The only thing that really drew me in was the sub-title: 'Why I Spent A Year Trying to Sing in the Morning, Clean My Closets, Fight Right, Read Aristotle, and Generally Have More Fun'. Well, that, and the cover, which to my shallow self, looked at least a little interesting.

Imagine my surprise when The Happiness Project actually had an impact on my own daily life. Rubin, without specifically meaning to, has written a self-help book for the non-self-help crowd. I was not necessarily in the market for help, although I do admit to having been in a bit of a funk lately, so perhaps I was a little more open to suggestion than usual. Regardless, the genius behind the 'help' is that it's actually the documentation of Rubin's own journey to a more positive life, rather than someone's pompous instructions on how You could make your life like Theirs. She makes no suggestion to readers as to following in her footsteps, and in fact wrote this as a stand-alone project rather than as one that others might undertake on their own.

The book begins with Rubin, a former Supreme Court staffer turned writer, looking at her life and wondering about happiness; would making small changes to identified areas of her existence, both internal and external, improve the experience of both her and, by extension, those around her? To find out, Rubin first had to define happiness, which led to an extensive reading list of material from philosophers, politicians, and religous figures. From that, Rubin identified her own condensed thoughts on the subject, and made a list of areas in her life that she felt could stand improvement. The project built upon itself, with new goals being added at the beginning of each month, the assumption being that after 30 days, the previous goals had become habits that needed less individual focus. With the introduction of each new month's goals, Rubin gave background research information and reasoning as to why she had selected the goals for the month, and what philosophical basis they had. Each month gets its own chapter, and Rubin includes an extensive reference section at the end documenting her research and motivational texts.

Part of what makes this all so readable is Rubin's awareness that really, to 90% of the world, her life is already pretty magnifiant - good health, strong marriage, financially stable, etc. She also includes the doubts of others who approach her to discuss her work, and their (sometimes rude) arguments as to why her year's work is, essentially, worthless. However, her basic conclusion is that if we are to live, we should strive for improvement, for our own sake as well as that of those around us. Rubin sets goals that impact her family, friends, and community, but involve only small changes on her own part and no financial investment at all. Her goal of being true to herself resulted in her exploring her passion for children's literature and starting a small literature circle; it eventually expanded so much from people bringing friends that other offshoot groups were created. All of those people expanded their horizons, met new people, and got to participate in a monthly intellectually stimulating social experience because of her small decision to focus on what she was really interested in. The book is full of tiny gestures that make substantial returns.

In essence, Rubin's tactic is very appropriate for the current economy; figure out what you truly want, what honestly makes you and others in your life happy, and cut out all the rest of the garbage. Focus on what you can change, and do it. There are many people who, for one reason or another, feel that they have lost a lot of power over their own lives, and this project is a reminder that we all can refocus ourselves, and take charge of what is truly personal.

Rating: five stars. Intelligent, honest, engaging journal of taking back the self ad focusing on what's truly important

Review: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Dreadfully Ever After, by Steve Hockensmith

I know, I know, you're thinking, enough with the zombies already.


It's never enough; or, at least, not when it comes to the Pride and Prejudice series reboot, it isn't. It's a sickness, I know; I just can't seem to help myself. You have no idea the glee I felt when I realized that there was yet another piece to the Dreadful puzzle.


In case you have no idea what all the fuss is about, there is a whole genre out there of literature comprised of authors taking literature from the public domain and adding horror elements to them; the best of these is by far the butchery of the Pride and Prejudice series, which began with Seth Grahame-Smith's 'Pride & Prejudice and Zombies'. Hockensmith then picked up the mantle, writing the prequel 'Dawn of the Dreadfuls' and now the now-trilogy's finale, Dreadfully Ever After. The biggest difference between the two authors' work is that SGS inserted the 'horror' portions into Austen's work, whereas SH has written two entirely new novels extending the original story.


In DEA, the Dreadfuls (in high-society England, 'zombie' is considered poor language - the creatures are referred to as 'Poor Unfortunates', Dreadfuls, or in a pinch, 'Zeds') are once again making themselves a nuisance. The novel begins with Darcy being bitten by one such unfortunate, making it necessary for Elizabeth to call upon his aunt, the shrewish Catherine de Bourgh, for assistance in keeping her beloved from turning into a flesh-eating fop. Elizabeth, whose fighting skills have been forced onto a back burner due to the impropriety of a married woman carrying a weapon, is further horrified to find that Lady Catherine's plan involves her taking Darcy back to her home, while sending Lizzy, along with her father and one of her sisters, to woo the manufacturer of the only known cure for Zed-ism. Of course, the Lady has her own motives for getting the cure, not the least of which being revenge upon the lower-class Elizabeth for stealing Darcy from his intended, Catherine's daughter, who is looking surprisingly... peaked... these days. Meanwhile, London is in the process of falling to the zombies, who have found a way around the multi-walled defense system of the city. This final novel sees Elizabeth struggling emotionally with her prescribed place in society, and the dark presence of de Bourgh playing the hand of the social norm forcing her into a coquettish role opposite of her true nature; interestingly, this is a battle Austen herself faced as the society or her time tried to quelch her true intellect and character into one more 'appropriate'. In the end, only the extreme fighting skills of the Bennett-Darcy family, along with the help of several ninjas and a mysterious man in a box, can stop the country's - and Darcy's - descent into flesh-eating mania, and Elizabeth's capitulation into depression.


The reason all of this insanity works is the deliciously ridiculous dichotomy between the period-appropriate expectations for and speech of the characters and the china-star fighting style of the Bennett sisters. Cleverness, intelligence, and sly wit save the novel from being mere b-movie spoof material and turn it into something more intellectual, almost droll. I have said it before, these are 'horror' lit novels for the NPR crowd. As usual, pen-and-ink illustrations are included, which heighten the feeling that this could *almost* be an extension of the original, had Austen had an interest in the grotesque. Also present once again are language and phrasing that are close to something I could have imagined Austen using. While it is an easy thing to copy someone else's work, it is not an easy thing to create something new in the imagined voice of someone else successfully, and continually.

I was mildly concerned before reading this latest installment that it would unravel towards the end, and use too-easy techniques to get to the pre-decided plot resolution, but it really didn't. Hockensmith kept the characters on-track throughout the climax, and the eventual resolution was very satisfying. While I am disapointed that, from the look of it, this will probably remain a trilogy, I appreciate the author's respect for the characters, both their classic and made-over traits. Is Austen rolling in her grave, or perhaps climbing out of it entirely? Maybe, but but if she is, it's only to eat the delicious brain of one Steve Hockensmith.

Rating: five out of five. Another fun romp in the imagined past with Elizabeth Bennett, zombie-killer.

Review: A Cup of Friendship, by Deborah Rodriguez

The latest book by Deborah Rodriguez, A Cup of Friendship, is a sort of Steel Magnolias that takes place in Afghanistan. In fact, if you liked that movie, and are also interested in the experiences of women in the middle east, I can almost guarantee that you would enjoy this novel, and should in fact trot out and get it forthwith. If not, still consider reading it, because there are enough differences that might still make it worthwhile for your at least borrowing from the library (actually, I always recommend visiting your local library, because you never know what you might find there).

To be honest, I was slightly put of from picking up this book simply because of its title; it was a little too close to the cup of tea thing. (Unlike almost everyone else in the universe, it seems, I did *not* like the Greg Mortenson book, and as a result I admit to feeling a little smug when it came out a few months ago that he's a big, fat, liar-liar-pants-on-fire. So there.) However, after skimming a few pages, I decided to give it a try, and I'm glad I did. There are several characters in the story, many of which had a story compelling enough to have her own complete novel, such as Yazmina, a pregnant young widow taken from her home to settle a debt who escapes her captors in Kabul, or Halajan, an older woman who is having a culturally-forbidden romance via letter with a man from her childhood, but the main character of 'Friendship' is Sunny, an American transplant who owns the small coffeshop in downtown Kabul that is the gravitational force for all the novel's characters. Sunny's main dilemma, unfortunately, is between two men, both of whom do mysterious 'danger pay' work for different governments with political interests in the country; I say unfortunately because in comparison to what the other characters are going through, Sunny's man-challenge is pretty basic. However, thankfully, this is not her sole purpose as a character, as the existence of the coffee shop itself is threatened daily by sectarian violence and the financial concerns that result, and she must work with her friends and the Afghani family she has cobbled together to raise money to keep the cafe open.

This probably all sounds like a pretty basic plot, and perhaps it is, but what is really compelling about the story is the characters themselves. Rodriguez, the author of the bestselling Kabul Beauty School, has lived in Kabul and thus knows the intricacies of the culture and those who must navigate the seemingly endless social requirements; her experience has helped her to create realistic, living characters that the reader can establish a relationship with. Especially interesting to me was her portrayal of the foreign presence, which was kind yet didn't flinch away from pointing out the patriarchical nature of the many parties with their hand in the Afghan pot. Also, Rodriguez includes the male perspective in this collaborative-narrator story, which is novel both in that men's thoughts aren't frequently included in women's literature, especially in any sort of believable fashion, and in that the men are Afghani, who typically do not share their thoughts with women. The author also delves into the dangerous dichotomy that is being a woman in Afghanistan; women are expected to bear sons for their husbands, yet if the husband dies while she is pregnant, she can be killed as a whore, and when the son grows up, he like any man can kill her for any perceived infraction of the social code.

Some of the characters in the story are more believable than others, and at times Rodriguez does slip into the easy-solution arena, exchanging some credibility for ease in making a point, setting a scene, or resolving a plot twist. It seems that she had scenarios in mind for each character arch, and perhaps didn't spend as much time thinking up ways to make these events happen in a totally believable fashion - there is one character in particular who has Money and Connections, and who greases the wheels of the plot with increasing frequency as the novel reaches its apex. Also, one of the male characters at the crux of the story makes his mental transformation in a little too perfect of a manner to be realistic, but it does tie up the plot nicely. To be utterly real, one of the characters would have had to kill at least one of the others; this would have changed the whole tone of the book and perhaps not worked out, either.

I do wonder, though, if the novel turned into something that Rodriguez hadn't intended in the beginning, because as the plot progresses, new characters are introduced that become increasingly integral to the story, while those present from the beginning aren't paid quite as much attention. It was increasingly clear that what Rodriguez really wanted to do was write a social commentary on Afghanistan culture, focused on its treatment of women, with a side plot on foreign involvement, and this novel is split between the relationship stories and the girlfriend-power let's-fix-it side. Interestingly, while the author is obviously critical of foreign involvement in the country, the main characters who are the driving force for positive change in the story are all foreign white women. Rodriguez herself was a foreigner in Kabul, providing women with training to better their lives, so perhaps it is only the geo-political military 'aid' she is truly critical of, but regardless the characters' claims that Afghan people should be left alone to run their own country seems contrary to the actual events in the story.

All in all, this was an excellent book that I enjoyed reading. The characters are likable and varied, the atmosphere interesting and realistic. There are a few plot-conveniences, but the resolution wasn't totally inconceivable. The glimpse into the culture of Afghanisan, particularly for those who haven't read much about the social norms there, makes the book worth the read.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars. Interesting characters in a realistic environment, with a few questionable plot conveniences and a mixed political message.

Review: Graveminder, by Melissa Marr

Prior to writing Graveminder, Melissa Marr focused on YA romantic fantasy / sci fi writing; in this story, her first foray into adult fiction, Marr carries over those themes in a slightly darker vein. If you are familiar with this blog at all, you know that I'm all over the new higher-brow zombie-inclusion trend, and the insinuation on the book jacket that something would be crawling out of a grave was all the encouragement I needed to zap this title right into my Nook.


I wasn't sure what to expect, since while I like the zombie action, I'm not really a fan of romance, because too many writers take the easy road and make ultra-predictable novels based on sappy soft-core porn. Although Graveminder is billed as somewhat of a romance, I was pleasantly surprised, because the relationship between the novel's two main characters is really a back-burner issue, tangental to the main plot.

The novel opens with a strange interaction in a graveyard between an elderly woman and an oddly dirty, skinny girl that leaves the reader with a strong sense of Wrong; that feeling is substantiated a few pages later in a discovery that necessitates main character Rebekkah Barrow, a wanderer who has been resisting a strong urge to return to her hometown for many years, to attend to the final affairs of the woman who had become her adopted grandmother. Only a select few in the town are able to discuss events surrounding the dead woman, as well as other town eccentricities, without developing debilitating migraines. The juicy secret that binds the town is centuries old, and leads Rebekkah and her on-again, off-again childhood love literally to purgatory and back while a conspiracy involving the undead threatens to munch the brains of everyone in town.


Really, there is so much going on in this story that it's difficult to outline the plot without giving anything away. The chapters are told from a few different points of view, including some guest spots from zombie thoughts, so the reader has more pieces of the puzzle than the individual main characters do quite often, but these pieces don't fit together in any meaningful way until the main characters have caught up. There are times when Marr strays dangerously close to the hokey, during the periods when the characters transition between worlds, and these are the weakest parts of the novel, but overall she does an excellent job of allowing the characters, and readers, experience the events in an organic way; she never forces characters to do something ridiculous to belabor a point, and readers are trusted to keep up with the events and remember details on their own rather than having the literary neon signs that many authors provide throughout a plot. The character's relationships seem realistic, and the explanation given as to why there's not an uproar in the town over the events is simple and reasonable. Additionally, whether intended or not, there is some dark humor in the tale... or maybe I just find zombie attacks funny. Either way, I had a good time reading this story, and a hard time putting it down.

Rating: four and a half stars out of five. Entertaining, darkly funny, suspenseful tale of a town where Here and Now meets Hereafter.

Review: The Memory Palace, by Mira Bartok

I am a sucker for a good rough-life memoir. Give me three hundred pages of overcoming childhood adversity, throw in some life-threatening events, sprinkle liberally with mental illness and financial hardship, and I'm all in. It's my version of reality TV, classed up a bit.

Unfortunately, for a few different reasons, Mira Bartok's The Memory Palace just didn't do it for me. Certainly, her childhood was pretty horrific, with a schizophrenic mother, frighteningly violent grandfather, and abused grandmother; the ordeals she suffered at the hands of these people were at once heartbreaking and riveting. As adults, Bartok and her sister would both eventually change their names and hide their locations from their mother due to the danger she posed to their personal, professional, and physical lives, reuniting with their by-then homeless mother only on her deathbed. For her part, Bartok describes reliving the caretaker role in other relationships, including one ill-fated marriage, until she herself was in a car accident that necessitated having someone care for her due to brain injury.

As interesting as these events are, however, Bartok is unable to make them gel into one coherent, compelling story. Each detail and event is told as if happening in a void; this is not a story of her life, which contained unique challenges, but rather the story of those challenges in and of themselves. Thus, the reader ends up with less of a connection to Bartok herself, which is a problem in a memoir. I don't know a lot about what went on with her in school, if she had friends, what kinds of conversations she had with people, what her day-to-day adult life was like, and so I went through the book not really feeling like Bartok had allowed me in. Bartok is not an adult fiction writer, and she had a lifetime's practice hiding her experiences from everyone around her, and I wonder if perhaps that perfected secretiveness made it difficult for her to allow the emotional openness that would have been required to make The Memory Palace the story it could have been.

Bartok also seemed to be trying to tell both her story *and* that of her mother, but not filling in enough detail of either story, particularly during her adulthood, to make a connection with either person. For instance, late in the book, she makes us aware via a conversation with her sister that she is dating a poet whom her sister doesn't like because he's unemployed; in the next chapter, a good deal of time has passed, they have been married for awhile, and it suddenly comes out that he's been increasingly showing signs of potential schizophrenia himself - how did it get to that point? Why did she marry this person? We don't know. These details are important in a memoir. If this were fiction, maybe I could give it more of a pass, but this is a real life, and there are real details and answers out there; don't just dangle a carrot like that in front of me and pretend details aren't important, because they are.

This memoir could have been so much better. As it was, I wasn't drawn in enough to even really want to finish it, although I did because I can't stand leaving unfinished books around. Maybe after reading The Glass Castle, Jeannette Walls' amazing memoir or living with mentally ill and drug addicted parents, I am completely spoiled. I just know that I wanted more from this story, because I know it's there, but perhaps Bartok simply isn't in a place emotionally, or mentally, to want or be able to fully reveal it.

Rating: one star. Disappointingly unengaging, disjointed memoir of a schizophrenic's daughter.

Review: Joy School, by Elizabeth Berg

Elizabeth Berg's newest novel, Joy School, is actually a continuation of a previous novel, Durable Goods, that I read long enough ago that I didn't actually make the connection between the two until I was midway through the story. The characters felt familiar, but there are enough changes in the circumstances that it wasn't immediately obvious to me what was going on.

Joy School is the (continued) story of Katie, who serves as the teenaged narrator of the book, which seems to take place in the sixties or so (the actual year isn't mentioned). She and her father have recently moved to Missouri after what is hinted as being a long line of relocations, and Katie is once again the New Girl, with all the challenges that go along with that status. The neighbor kids delight in being nasty to her, and her best friend's letters, which are few and far between, reflect a widening gap in maturity and experiences that make no connection with Katie's current situation. Her family situation is also a challenge, due to the death of her mother prior to the start of the book; her older sister has run away with a boyfriend to Mexico, and her father leans towards violence as a result of depression over the entire situation. Katies horizons begin to widen when she falls in (unrequited) love with an older, married young man and befriends another transplant, a beautiful student model with a penchant for shoplifting and parking.

Berg takes what could be a seedy and stereotypical plot and creates what is actually a sweet and fairly innocent story more related to a modern version of Beverly Cleary's teenage series than (gag) Twilight; throughout, I kept thinking of Fifteen, and Jean and Johnny (probably because the young man Katie falls in love with is named Jimmy, but the tone is the similar). Katie is a normal girl that many of us could relate to, and frankly who I hope my daughter would relate to; she has a moral compass, and is looking for more from life than cheap thrills. Berg does a good job reflecting the character of the general time period, rather than imposing current cultural standards on the characters. The sixties and early seventies were a time of huge social shifting, and Katie's experiences teeter on the edge of the precipice - on the one hand, she dreams about bringing Jimmy baked goods, and on the other she gets dragged along on what she discovers are very physical 'parking' dates and shoplifting lessons with her questionable new friend.

Katie's age-appropriate voice as narrator makes for a simple, yet not quite simplistic, read. The book goes fast, and took me literally two sittings to get through. Having only one perspective means that the other characters are not as developed as they could have been; I would be very interested in reading a book that focuses on her sister's separate journey. Berg gives tantalizing tidibts of information regarding her experience via Katie's interpretation, and I would like to see that fleshed out more; it's a bit of a shame that the story didn't have two parts, with the sister's telling their own stories separately at the beginning, converging into one when the family is reunited, and splitting up again afterward. That having been said, Berg does an excellent job of allowing Katie to tell her story in full, in a realistic and truthful manner.

If you enjoy YA literature in particular, or have nostalgic feelings about the YA stories of your youth, this is a good selection for you. If you prefer Twilight-esque sexual tension and melodrama, this may not be what you're looking for.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5: a sweetly charming coming-of-age tale about a level-headed heroinne.

Review: The Known World, by Edward P. Jones

I read a lot of material, both new and old, and it's not often that I come across a recently-published book that I would call 'literature'. Edward P. Jones' work, The Known World, crosses the line between novel and Work effortlessly. I am not the only one who thinks so - Jones won the 2004 Pulitizer prize for literature, and the 2003 National Book Critics Circle Award for fiction. It spreads across the mind like spilled water on an old wood floor, silently sliding, soaking in, and bringing texture into sharp relief.

Placed in the antebellum south, TKW is a broadly sweeping story that centers around the life and death of Henry, the favored slave of a wealthy plantation owner who, in a gross twisting of values, comes to own a large number of his own slaves as a freed adult. Strange as it seems, this is an actual historical detail; some freed slaves did indeed go on to own plantations with slaves. This in itself makes for a fascinating basis, because it seems completely counter-intuitive for such a thing to occur. Henry's life is at the center of a maelstrom of humanity created by Jones; there are so many characters in this story I honestly had a difficult time keeping everyone straight for quite awhile, and briefly considered creating a small chart to help me organize everyone. Via webbed plot lines, the reader learns the life and eventual fate of at least twenty inter-related characters, both slave and master, white and black, male and female, told in their own voices; these characters are so thoroughly and realistically created that I found myself having to look back at the binding to make sure I was reading fiction and not a recording of actual events. The prose is reminicent of a much older work, including the chapter titles, which are in the format of short descriptive phrases, like those you would see in a piece from a hundred years ago or more, such as Frederick Douglass' personal narrative. The entire package together successfully transports the reader into the 1800s, making the events that much more engrossing.

The story is long, at approximately 305pp for the Nook version (the paperback is listed as having 432pp, I'm not sure where the discrepancy comes from there), and yet there is not a word wasted. Unlike many authors I have read recently, Jones is not afraid to carry his tale to its natural completion, rather than getting three-quarters of the way through and rushing to the finish. This was refreshing, to say the least. I haven't read anything created with this kind of care and respect in a long time.

TKW is not a light read, and if you take it to the beach expecting to be able to also keep an eye on the kids and listen to gabbing neighbors, you will be lost. This story changes character hats frequently, and you need to keep up or risk being entirely lost, because each character's experience is closely tied in with others' and will be referenced in both blatent and obscure ways later on. I actually forced myself to put it down when I got tired rather than powering through *just a few more chapters*, because of this, and also because if the author put this much care into creating this tapestry, the least I could do is to be fully present to witness it all as intended.

It is the honest perspectives, and well-crafted relationships between the characters, that kept me reading this wonderfully-written book. No character is treated as lesser, or villified; it is left to the reader to judge these complicated, nuanced creations based on his or her own values, which I appreciated. Jones thought enough of his characters, and readers, to know that all he had to do was lay out the facts, and let them speak for themselves.

Rating: five stars. An excellent, multi-dimensional work of modern literature that feeds the mind.

Review: Night Road, by Kristin Hannah

I chose to read Kristin Hannah's newest book, Night Road, based on the fact that I was still in light-reading mode and had enjoyed Firefly Lane well enough. Plus, it happened to be sitting on the shelf at the library when I got there.

NR is the story of a foster child, Lexi, her shy best friend, Mia, Mia's popular twin brother, Zach and their overzealous helicopter mother, Jude, with the novel's plot spilled out alternately by Lexi and Jude. I'm not going to go too much further into the plot, because I'm guessing that you can already see at least partly where this is going. While there is one event that is slightly surprising, the rest of it is so predictable that I wanted to scream. In fact, there are whole sections of this book that I'm sure I've read somewhere else, SKIP THIS NEXT PART IF YOU PLAN TO READ THE BOOK

particularly the part where Lexi pleads guilty and goes to prison out of guilt for a car accident - I've read that same thing somewhere before - Jodi Piccoult, maybe? it's going to drive me crazy trying to figure that out

SAFE TO COME BACK NOW

My point is, the story is utterly predictable, and that was part of its downfall. Young love, disaster, self-loathing, martyrdom, personal awakenings, redemption, the end. The characters were also just tired stereotypes, Jude in particular. Really, though, the biggest downfall of the book was in the last quarter, where things just perfectly fall into place after becoming ridiculously screwed up. Hannah skips whole years of the characters' lives, and then doesn't do a great job at reeling the reader back into caring about who they've become. I believe that the story would have benefitted greatly from chapters told by Zach, particularly, since he plays a major role in the story and yet we know very little about his inner thoughts. In addition, had it been condensed into something more concise, and then had more depth added to the characters in the last quarter of the story, plus a less tied-with-a-bow ending, it might have been pretty good.

So, it doesn't take a genius to see that I'm not a big fan of this book. It started out well, and I found Lexi's character in particular interesting, but then the whole thing devolved into formulaic writing, and I crawled through the last (and utterly unbelievable) part of the story, almost just to see how bad it would get. It got pretty bad, people. That having been said, Kristin Hannah is an immensely popular writer, and I think whether you like this story or not will depend on what you look for in a story; if you *like* this formula, or you don't read a large number of books (and thus aren't tired of it), then you'll probably enjoy the story. If you do read a lot though, or like variety in your materials, this is one to skip unless you're on the beach and probably will be mostly skimming.

Rating: 1 out of 5 stars. An initially interesting novel that turns into a rehash of tired character and plot ideas.